YOU SAVED ME
by LnBen
Summary: "The truth is - the closer you get to dying, the more of a coward you become." Those last moments were not what he expected nor was what would follow. Ranger's journey to find self forgiveness. Nothing is more powerful or as everlasting as true love.
1. Chapter 1

YOU SAVED ME

**CHAPT. 1- THE BEGINNING OF THE END**

He knew he was bleeding out. He had tried for a while to reach the wound in his leg but his injured left shoulder and the steering wheel prevented him from applying even simple pressure. Only the pain had kept him conscious and even that was beginning to fade…a sure sign of shock. The Porche had all kinds of safety features but was never engineered to roll down an embankment, bounce off boulders and keep its driver un-injured. Miraculously it had landed on its wheels. At least he wasn't hanging up-side down. Perhaps the GPS locater was still operational but he doubted anyone could reach him in time. Trenton's lights could be seen in the distance and he smiled to himself. His last view of earth wasn't what he expected. The rain made the whole scene surreal. The expressway below looked like a river of twinkling stars. The sky above looked dark and cold. Just about the same way that he was feeling.

The day was all on the road. He had planned to be back home by nightfall. Traffic was so backed up on Rte. 31 his patience ran thin. A spur-of-the-moment decision to use a little known shortcut at Baldwin's Corner made sense. A light mist was still in the air. Wetter than fog, dryer than out and out rain; it made driving interesting. He liked 'interesting'. Besides the Turbo hugged the road like a cat. He had used this route often and knew all the blind turns. Too bad the deer didn't know about the turns. He first saw the movement to his left and started to slow. The doe had stopped waiting for her two fawns to follow. Spinning the wheel hard to the right caused the car to hydroplane just enough to take him to the shoulder. That should have been it: a close call, an adrenaline rush and move on. The laws of physics however, are much stronger than any manmade machine. Two days of rain had saturated the ground and weakened the hillside. The weight of the car was just enough to force part of the roadside to break away. Here he was, literally between a rock and a hard place; in the dark, alone and running out of options.

Consciousness had returned with a gasp. He'd been there before and hated the first moments of sensory shock…Where am I? What happened? Am I in danger? Can I fight? With those questions asked, he began to evaluate the answers one at a time. _I'm in the Turbo, but it's not right. What's this shit in my face. Oh, the air bags deployed. Jeeze, the roof is practically on top of me. And what is all this pain! Damn my shoulder must have taken the force of the seatbelt. I can't raise my left arm even through the pain. You're doing yourself no good here, man. Get out of the car. Come on move! Get out! Shit, now what's wrong?_

The Turbo was wedged nose down against a large outcrop of rock. The boulders had kept him from becoming a splat on the expressway below. But one exceptionally large one was now nuzzling partially inside the driver's door preventing any hope of exiting that way. The roof had pan-caked on the passenger's side thankfully at an angle that did not involve crushing his head. He could move he feet but the angle of the bent steering wheel and dash pinned his legs and prevented him from sliding out. Even if he could pop the windshield out, he was still trapped in the seat. Something else was wrong. Thinking was getting way to hard and took to long. _Take a couple of deep breaths and go over this situation again. Ah, the deep breaths…there's the problem. Breathing hurts. This is just getting better and better._

That's when he felt the blood running down his leg. A piece of door metal had embedded itself squarely in his left thigh. Still attached to the door proper he had the bizarre image of an insect pinned to a specimen tray pop into his mind. He laughed at himself and the impossible mess he was in. Not a funny laugh; a resigned laugh. The reality of impending death had not settled in yet. It would.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 **

**The Beginning.**

The barrio was changing, subtly from the bottom up.

New immigrants saw only opportunity. First generations were trying to be was this third generation that was seeking validation and identity.

The concept of 'our neighborhood' was slowly evolving into 'our territory'.

This change in environment was most obvious while traveling the few blocks to school. You would pass groups of older youths, "just hang'in" on sidewalks.

You could feel their eyes assessing you. And if you were different in any way; you were targeted. Culled from crowd and subjected to verbal abuse.

And if you showed any form of defiance, physical abuse was sure to follow.

He was different.

The lighter skin inherited from his maternal grandmother was the sign that he wasn't 'full-blooded' Latino.

His hair hung softly in loose waves. It wasn't coarse. It wasn't tight. His older sisters would comment on their jealousy.

At 12 years of age, he hadn't gone through his last growth spurt and shorter and slighter than many of his classmates.

He was a walking target.

Brought up in a devout Catholic family, he carried a strong moral code laced with the guilt of obligation. He had no choice but to interfere that afternoon.

The group on the corner had singled out his sister's classmate. Redheaded and Hungarian, the girl was indeed different. Newly immigrated parents had found the only apartment affordable on 17th Street, in the heart of the barrio. They were oblivious to the developing dangers of this self-segregating neighborhood.

He could see her fear in the way she held her books tightly against her developing breasts.

The three men…not men in years, their average age 17. But 'men' in their minds and physique…circled her like the Jackals, they called themselves, homing in on their prize.

He knew Sasha. She had been a guest in his home and shared many meals with his family. He had to do something.

There was no plan. Disregarding his stature and standing, he crossed the street.

There are actions taken with good moral purpose that decompose into raw emotions. Once these emotions are acknowledged the righteousness of the original act is lost forever.

In a blind rage he pushed his way into the group and stood between the biggest youth and the girl.

"You let her alone, pendehos!"

"Well, well, well if it isn't Ricoitto. Big hombre all of a sudden! When did your balls drop?"

Anger at being called "Little Ricky" caused the next stupid action. He pushed the leader back and told Sasha to run.

Now he was in the Jackal's kill circle.

And the Jackals were hungry.

"Now look what you've done, tonto. Our afternoon entertainment has run away.

I guess you have just volunteered to take her place."

Dragging him by his hair, the three boys pulled him into the blind alley.

"Let's see if you can take it like the man you think you are. I bet he is just a maricon looking for a 'date'.

Thrown over a bag of trash.

Head held down by one of the pack.

He felt his pants being ripped off.

The next half hour was a painful and humiliating hell.

Not once did he cry out. He kept his head down, inhaling the scent of garbage. Using the smell as both a motivator for his hate and a diversion for his humiliation.

After they were satisfied, he was allowed to stand and dress. His back still towards them he gathered himself tall. Spinning around he spit on the leader, defying him with the comment:

"CHUPAME, CULERO!" (suck me, asshole). Turning the table on his aggressors, inviting them to trade places. Inviting… disaster.

Their reaction surprised and emboldened him.

The leader laughed and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Took it like a man and still ready to fight. Guess Ricardo is no longer Ricoitto. You are now Rico…nuestros hermano, our brother."

"I have brothers already. I don't need more"

"Ah, you will someday, Rico. You will some day."

With a laugh the men walked away. He was alone in the alley with his new-found manhood and the pain and humiliation.

It took him till evening to gather the willingness to go back home.

The greeting at the door was surprising.

"Here's our hero now!" was his father's first words.

His head down, all he had wanted was to slip in un-noticed and go to bed. But no, the whole family had gathered in the kitchen to congratulate him on saving Sasha.

She had run home and told her mother; who immediately had told his mother.

His older brother had been sent out to find him.

Whether his brother actually looked for him, or used the time to hook up with his girl would play in his mind and fuel later distrust.

But for a moment he allowed the accolades. The uncharacteristic humility was really buried humiliation.

He knew the truth. He was still feeling the pain. He would for the rest of his life keep this day buried in his heart.

No one must ever know.

There was very little privacy in a house filled with five children and three adults. He shared a bedroom with his two brothers. In fact he shared his bed with his younger brother.

But he had found a place.

His secret place.

A place he would go first to find quiet.

Later to find privacy.

Under the stairs in the hallway was a tiny, unused storage space. Smaller than a closet and bigger than a cabinet. Dark and cramped, it was a forgotten place.

Later that night, he quietly slipped out of bed. He sought the womb of his hidden den.

Curled up, with his knees on his chest and his arms holding tight to his legs…he released the desperation, humiliation, anger and fear that had been building all day in his heart.

He cried.

It was the last time for many years he would allow himself to do so.

The sound of his own sobbing drew him back to consciousness.

_Where the fuck am I? _

_Shit, the damn car._

_How long was I out?_

_I haven't thought about that day in years. Why now?_

_Nothing in that memory will help you now._

The residual anger and hate remained. Maybe they could be used to rescue him.

He certainly couldn't rely on anyone from the outside to save him, as usual.

He was on his own.

_What else is new?_


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER- 3**

It was a slow and painful process, but worth the agony.

He spotted the cell phone on the passenger's floor. He ripped off the sun visor and using it as an extension, he was carefully working it closer to the console.

There would be a decision to make.

He would have to pull away from the driver's door to reach the phone. This movement would both excruciating and the metal shard embedded in his leg could pull away and what was a constant trickle of blood could turn into a flow.

Best case scenario, he could call for help before he bled out. Worst case…help wouldn't get there in time.

The tight concentration on phone had blocked out the constant agony but the lunge to retrieve it will cause a surge of pain. He prepared himself for the discomfort to come and hoped he wouldn't pass out before he could make the call.

All this mental preparation became moot in an instant.

The cell vibrated with an incoming message.

The vibration danced the phone out of his reach and under the passenger's seat.

_SHIT! SON OF A BITCH! _ He pounded the steering wheel in defeat.

.

Tears of frustration filled his eyes. He blinked to clear his vision and tried to take measured breaths to regain control.

It was becoming clear now.

Death wasn't a possibility but a probability.

He had faced it many times before and had told himself that he could accept it squarely and bravely.

_You can show fearlessness in front of others. You can even convince yourself that you aren't afraid. But let's face it man… The truth is the closer you get to dying the more of a coward you become. _

_And right now you're knocking on Heaven's door._

_Heaven! That's a laugh. Do you really think you have a chance at that one! No, I don't think so. Wonder what Hell is like…_

_Shit! Think about something else. Think about good. Think about life. Don't die. Don't die._

_._

He allowed his mind to flow backwards to happier times.

Miami.

His grandmother, uncles and cousins took him in when he screwed up royally in Newark.

.

His family was loving but large and it was easy to be lost in the daily commotion of life.

At 14 he had a growth spurt that allowed him to blend in better with his new-found 'brothers' on the street.

Not yet officially 'gangs'. But you could see that street corners would soon become territories. And minor misdemeanors would begin to evolve into felonies.

He didn't hang with them all the time, but did join them at the gym. It wasn't a real gym; just some equipment in Chulo's garage. He lifted weights and bulked up.

.

He also learned to fight.

Not Queensbury Rules fighting. No rules, no-backing-down street fighting.

He didn't win every time. But he never backed down. He never showed fear.

He fought for respect…not acceptance.

.

And then there was Angelina.

He saw her standing with her friends in the hall at school. Latina Bonita! Long dark hair. Long dark eyelashes. Pouted lips. Developed breasts.

In his mind he claimed her.

She was the reason he never skipped class on Tuesdays , Wednesdays or Fridays.

She was also the reason he stole the Chevy.

The need to impress the woman in you life will make an intelligent man stupid. It will make a young man old. Quickly.

.

His parents were well placed in the community. The police officer that brought him home that night was apologetic.

The judge that heard the case was not so. The choice was juvenile correction center or an option offered to the court by his attorney.

Miami and Grandma.

He was on a flight two days later.

The pain and disappointment in his parent's eyes hurt worse than any beating he had gotten on the street.

"All this anger. And these new friends of yours are 'peligroso', dangerous. You cut classes. You get into fights. We have to think of your little brother and sister, Carlos. What kind of example are you making for them?"

After the incident two years ago, he had informed his family that he wanted to be called by his middle name. He wanted to erase all memories of "Little Ricky". His parents saw the changes in him and saw them as simply a phase.

They never new the true reason.

No one ever would.

.

So now Carlos was in Miami.

Abuela Marta, his maternal grandmother was from Spain. She met and married his grandfather while living in Havana. He was killed and she fled to Miami with family.

She was a proud and strong woman.

Never re-married, she still had her share of gentlemen friends.

He always liked Abuela Marta.

He had long ago forgiven her for giving him his mocha latte skin and soft hair.

Marta was not distracted by other children under-foot. 100% of her time was spent making sure Carlos was at school or doing something productive.

His uncle, Tio Alvaro, would pick him up after school and take him to the auto shop run by him and cousin they would work until suppertime.

At first he resented the constant attention but eventually the resentment was replaced with comfort and safety.

Miami was a sprawling city, with Palm trees and happy colored houses and sunshine and beaches. The contrast from Newark, New Jersey could not have been more apparent.

He grew into manhood there.

In more ways than one.

.

One lazy Saturday afternoon, Tio Alvaro asked him to bring a car back to a customer. Rosalinda Nava. A friend of Alvaro's.

After delivering the car, she invited him in for a cool drink.

And sex.

Lots of sex.

She was in her thirties and had taken very good care of her body. It was firm and full and she used it for the purpose it was intended.

With an expertise gained from obvious experience, she schooled the young Carlos in the finer points of Latin lovemaking.

Lessons he fine tuned later in life.

"No, no mi amante; any man can discharge his seed. A lover learns to please the woman first. Take control of her. Bring her to places she never knew existed. Then when he cums, he has won that right."

.

Hours later she drove him back to the shop.

He practically leaped from the car.

He didn't see his uncle and Rosalinda exchange knowing smiles.

That evening, while tending pork on the grill, he was sitting on the step next to his uncle.

"So, you brought the car to Rosalinda?" Alvaro didn't look at Carlos. He kept his eyes on the grill.

Carlos could feel the heat from the grill and the heat from his blush. He wasn't sure which was hotter. "Yes."

"You were gone a long time."

"She invited me in for a cola."

"She is a fine woman. No?"

Any answer he could give was locked in his throat. He simply nodded.

His uncle reached behind the step and brought out two bottles of cold Corona.

Still looking at the grill, he handed one to Carlos.

"This is what the Manoso men drink." Smiling he stood up and went to tend the meat.

Carlos was one of the Manoso men now. He belonged.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

**.**

**.**

**.**

It was exactly 9:20 PM when he got the call from the 5th floor.

Ranger had gone off-line.

Tank reached for his phone. He texted 865 to Ranger's phone. It was a pre-arranged code using the numbers relating to U O K.

He was expecting the reply 65. Or hoping not to receive 11…the fast abbreviation for 911. That would mean send back up immediately to my last location.

There was no text sent.

Breaking protocol he phoned Ranger. It rang and then went to voice-mail.

Tank was off his couch and grabbing his keys as he called Marcos, the acting watch commander.

.

.

"Call in Brown and his men. Tell him to bring his heavy equipment. (Bobby Brown was RangeMan's chief medical officer. He was also a licensed Nurse/Practitioner, earning that title in the Army.)

I need Lester, Hal and Roscoe in SUVs ready to roll.

Send the last coordinates for the Porsche to my phone.

We leave the garage in 10 minutes."

.

.

There could be a very simple reason for his boss to go off-line. And if it were for a personal reason, they would all just be embarrassed.

But over the years, Ranger had made many enemies. None would hesitate trying to kill him; in fact some have. They have all been unsuccessful…so far.

.

.

Tank doubted it was just a slip-up. Ranger never slips-up.

On the drive in, he ran through any recent threats both to Ranger and Stephanie. _That woman can cause more trouble in one day than a dozen gang-bangers…_he thought as he pulled into the garage and into the lead SUV with Hal.

Not surprisingly, Cal, Chester, Woody, Cet and a half dozen more Rangemen who were off duty were in cars and ready to roll with the others.

'

.

"Last transmission was from 3 miles out of town, North between Pennington and Baldwins corner. He was traveling on 31. Nothing on the scanners. Keep your eyes open and your mouths shut unless you see something. MOVE!"

.

.

They pealed out of the garage on a mission. They didn't know what they were getting into, and it didn't matter.

Ranger was unreachable…and in trouble.

.

.

.

.

The last thing his conscious mind perceived was the doe looking in on him from the front of the car.

_Coming to apologize or checking to make sure you did the job?_

Anger at first, then quiet acceptance.

He closed his eyes as things quietly turned to black.

.

.

There was no 'tunnel of light', no one greeting him on the other side.

Just a black endless void.

And memories.

Some in quick flashes, other in seemingly endless detail….

.

.

He remembered being in his bed in the dorm at Rutgers and waking to the phone ringing. It was his father…

.

"Hijo, it is bad. Roman has been killed in San Salvador. The Marine officers just left the house. Your Mama needs you."

.

'

His older brother Roman was in the Marines and stationed in El Salvador.

He regretted never being close to him or never forgiving him for choosing his woman over him so many years ago.

But he was his brother and he loved him.

Now he wouldn't be able to tell him.

'

'

'Shot in an ambush in a San Salvadorian café, wearing civilian clothes; the military believes the Marines were targeted. The other 9 civilians killed were considered collateral damage"…the TV was shouting the news when Carlos came through the door.

'

'

The women were sitting on the couch consoling each other.

His mother sat emotionless, staring at the photos on the wall.

His father, eyes red and swollen grabbed him by the shoulders and hugged him.

'

'

Memories flashed like a strobe…

The Full Honors military funeral.

The constant sobbing of his sisters.

The questioning of the little ones…why Mama?...what's a terrorist?...so soldiers go to Heaven?

.

.

Carlos joined the Army three weeks later.

He knew what a terrorist was.

He knew why…we are hated because we are free.

Do soldiers go to heaven?

.

.

_Good soldiers should go to heaven…They've already been through hell._

_But no one knows for sure…_

_._

_._

_Guess I'm about to find out._


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER 5**

.

.

.

Some things can't be taught, no matter how good the teacher.

He had never fired a gun before. His range instructor called him a 'natural'.

From the first moment he held his rifle, it felt familiar in his grasp.

.

Close quarters hand-to-hand combat was just like street fighting with better techniques.

And surprisingly his quiet manner and logical thinking made him a born leader.

.

Basic training was not easy. But he was driven by the need to be the best. When he did lousy at an exercise, he would spend any free time at improving.

He had sworn an oath to himself to avenge his brother. That could only be accomplished by being out front where the action was.

.

By the end of basic, he was leader of the highest rated platoon. Approached by his sergeant, he agreed to try out for the 75th Ranger battalion.

Many tried out.

He was accepted.

.

The rest of his life would be shaped by this decision.

When he swore the Ranger's Creed, it became his purpose in life, his way in life and in a secular way, his religion.

.

.

**The Ranger Creed**

Recognizing that I volunteered as a Ranger, fully knowing the hazards of my chosen profession, I will always endeavor to uphold the prestige, honor, and "esprit de corps" of the Rangers.

Acknowledging the fact that a Ranger is a more elite soldier who arrives at the cutting edge of battle by land, sea, or air, I accept the fact that as a Ranger my country expects me to move farther, faster and fight harder than any other soldier.

Never shall I fail my comrades. I will always keep myself mentally alert, physically strong and morally straight and I will shoulder more than my share of the task whatever it may be. One-hundred- percent and then some.

Gallantly will I show the world that I am a specially selected and well- trained soldier. My courtesy to superior officers, neatness of dress, and care for equipment shall set the example for others to follow.

Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might. Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.

Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.

**Rangers Lead The Way!**

.

.

This code asked much. In his lifetime he gave much more.

Decisions that seemed morally right in the heat of battle would haunt him. Many nights he would wake in a sweat reliving interrogations and kills that were his duty to perform.

Now, it seems those very same nightmares will haunt him through eternity.

.

.

.

He had been on the hillside since 3AM. In full camouflage, he had lain motionless waiting for his target.

A Guatemalan general who was playing both sides of the rebellion.

As dawn broke a jeep pulled of the side of the road.

At first it looked like two rebel soldiers stopping to relieve themselves.

Then they pulled the young woman out of the jeep.

She couldn't have been more than 17. She was crying and trying to break free.

The one soldier slapped her hard and repeatedly.

She became docile. She gave no fight as they ripped her dress off.

She only whimpered as they threw her over the Jeep's hood and repeatedly raped and sodomized her.

.

He wanted to kill them where they stood. He wanted to kill them slowly and watch them beg for mercy.

He did nothing.

He looked away; giving her at least that small dignity.

He knew that his target was on his way. He could not compromise his mission. He could not clear the kill zone before the general's scheduled time to pass the target point.

.

After the rebels were finished with the girl, the taller one put his pistol to the back of her head and blew half of it away.

They rolled the body over the shoulder of the road, congratulated each other and drove away.

He studied their faces, their clothing and their laughs.

He had a mission. But when that mission was complete, he had personal business with both of them.

.

He made the shot. A double tap to the general and his driver and the mission was a success.

He spent two more days in the jungle. He stalked the two soldiers like a deadly panther.

One at a time, they died.

Their throats cut to the bone and their genitals removed and shoved down their throats.

He relived their dying pleas and the smell of their blood in many of his dreams.

.

He relived them now.

.

_So, this is hell. No fire or brimstone. Just a black void and nightmares for eternity. _

_I DID WHAT WAS ASKED OF ME. I REMOVED THE EVIL. I PROTECTED THE GOOD._

_WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO?_

.

He shouted to an unresponsive God.

.

He was rewarded with more flashes of faces.

Angry faces.

Pained faces.

Dying faces.

.

He saw the face of Private McGee.

Lying on the jungle floor.

Disemboweled from a guerilla landmine.

In excruciating pain and dying a slow death.

.

"Please, Sarge. I can't move my arms to do it myself. For Gods's sake, please. Shoot me. I don't want to die like this. Please!"

.

One head shot and McGee was at rest.

The pain transferred to Ranger.

He carried that the rest of his life.

'

And evidently farther still.

.

.

.

Tank and the men had traveled up and down Rte. 31 a half a dozen times.

Nothing.

No sign of the Porsche. No sign of an accident.

He called dispatch.

"Check those coordinates again. There's nothing here."

Roman got back to him immediately. Those were the correct numbers.

Tank was getting upset:

With the men, with the situation and most of all with himself.

"Think man, think." He said out loud. "You know him. Think like him."

.

Then he remembered the short cut they had taken on this route during rush hour.

He ordered the men back to their vehicles and up the grade to Baldwin's Corner.

He knew where his friend was.

He prayed that he wasn't too late.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

.

.

.

The birth of his daughter should have brought such joy.

His first view of Julie was through glass windows at the newborn nursery.

She was a beautiful little caramel bundle. The white buntings making her skin seem darker than it was.

Labor had been long for Rachel.

He stayed by her side as long as he was allowed. Her sister was the birth coach.

The three of them knew that the marriage was just to keep Rachel's honor.

The child would have a legitimate birth.

Both mother and daughter would be covered under his medical insurance.

Rachel was a good woman. Ranger had enjoyed her company and her body over an extended leave.

He was careless. She got pregnant. Abortion never was discussed.

A quick trip to the JP and honor was restored.

.

_._

_Honor… Obligation…. Duty…his code…his life._

_There wasn't much else to believe in. _

_He counted on no one to be there._

_He let no one in to share his thoughts or his dreams._

_._

_Did he ever have dreams?_

_Good dreams, with happy plans for the future._

_He tried hard to think of one._

_He couldn't._

_._

_._

Then the faces came back.

.

.

There were the faces of his torturers, smiling at his pain. Demanding answers from him that he would never give.

There were the faces of those he "interrogated". They would give him the answers.

Sometimes it took a while, but they always gave the answers.

He needed those answers. Other lives, the lives of his fellow soldiers depended on how well he did his job.

A job they couldn't or wouldn't do themselves. A job he was highly trained to do. He did his job well.

.

_._

Takeko's face. A beautiful face. An exotic face.

She had been comrade-in-covert-arms…a spy.

She had also been comrade-in-his-arms…a long term lover.

She introduced him to Tantra Yoga…and Tantric sex.

Hours, one time a weekend of slow, erotic, mutual gratification.

When he was with her, there was no outside world. There were no ugly memories. There was no obligation. There was just the two of them and nothing more.

.

It had taken him a year or more to find her after she left the service.

She ran a "business" for special clients in Newark.

He had visited her many times to take care of his special needs.

They were close…perhaps even friends.

.

He kept her at that same distance he kept his other "friends"

.

.

_Count on only yourself._

_Why should you be important in their lives?_

_Let them in…but never let them close._

_Survive._

_._

'

Then it all went away.

There was nothing but the void.

And new sounds.

.

.

Suddenly they were all around him.

People with no faces.

Calling to him.

Pulling at him.

Grabbing at him.

They had his arms…his legs.

They were pulling him deeper and deeper into the pit.

He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could make a sound someone shoved their hand down his throat.

He closed his mouth and tried to fight them off.

There were too many of them.

They were bloody, and the sweet, coppery stench filled his nostrils.

He tried not to breathe. They forced him to.

He was forced to breathe in the smell of the blood he had shed for so many years.

Searing pain wracked through every fiber of his body.

.

Unabated panic flooded his being.

He was afraid.

.

.

This was it… Judgment.

He felt himself sobbing uncontrollably.

He was dying…and he was so afraid.

.

.

. **********************

.

They were taking the curves slowly, watching for any signs of disturbance in the foliage.

Looking for a place where a Porche Turbo might have left the road.

At the first sharp turn downhill, Tank slammed on the brakes.

.

Standing in the middle of the road was a doe.

She wasn't crossing.

She was just standing.

It seemed to Tank that she was waiting…waiting for them.

It gave him a chill as she calmly looked straight into his eyes…as if to say

"There you are! I have been expecting you."

.

Hal spotted it first.

The side of the road had crumbled away and branches of neighboring bushes were freshly broken.

He leapt out of Tank's SUV with Mag in hand.

"OVER HERE! OVER HERE! I CAN SEE IT!"

.

The lights of the Mags reflected off the Turbo.

It was in a very precarious position. Wedged, nose down into protruding bedrock, its stability was questionable.

.

"I'm going down. Anchor rappelling gear to the vehicles. AND GET BROWN AND HIS TEAM HERE NOW!" Tank was yelling the last order from half way down the wet embankment.

.

'_God, please'_ was his private prayer as he rushed to find his friend.

.

There was a large boulder crushing the driver's door, and the roof was almost flat on the passenger side.

Tank worked himself as close to the car as the rocks would allow.

He could see Ranger, head back and to his right side.

He wasn't moving and didn't respond to Tank's frantic calls.

.

The men were working to secure the Turbo to the vehicles on the road as Bobby Brown and his team reached Tank.

.

"Is he…?"

"I can't tell. He's not responding to my voice, but I can't get the fuck close enough to even touch him!"

.

The words were just out of Tank's mouth when Hal and Cal were at his side. Each was carrying the largest bolt cutters manufactured.

.

"We don't have JAWS, but these will work." Both men began tearing at the car's roof.

Hal has been known to remove a car's engine, without a lift, using his arms and back alone. He was a human jaws-of-life.

Both their hands were bloodied and torn from the sharp metal, but in minutes they peeled the Turbo's roof completely off.

.

Bobby climbed in and immediately felt Ranger's neck for a pulse.

There wasn't a sound on that hillside. Every man held their breath.

.

.

"It's thready, but it's there. Woody, bring the backboard. We'll slide him onto it as we pull him back and out of the seat…SHIT!"

.

Bobby spotted the piece of steel skewering Ranger's leg.

.

Every first responder is told…'never remove a penetrating object' it can cause more bleeding and increase the severity of the injury.

But there was no way to cut the metal. The angle and proximity wouldn't allow the bolt cutter access.

He had no choice.

They would pull Ranger's leg away from the shard and immediately apply pressure.

Once up the embankment, full triage and treatment could begin.

.

.

It had to be painful.

Ranger never groaned. Never flinched.

He was in full shock.

Bobby knew he would be fighting for Ranger's life.

He prayed he had the skills needed.

.

.

There were half dozen men in the car.

Some securing his neck.

Others holding his arms and torso secure to the backboard.

Woody was standing by ready to apply pressure on his leg.

He was pulled up the embankment with the help of lines tied to the board.

Bobby was shouting orders to the men up top.

"Call for a Trauma One unit. Get the crash bags out of my vehicle."

.

.

With the swiftness and skill born out of field necessity and years of training, Brown's team all did their part.

Ranger's clothes were cut off.

Woody was packing his leg wound with "Quick Clot" gauze.

Ranger's dislocated shoulder was secured.

Bobby started an IV in Ranger's right leg. The veins are larger there and can take the "push" of Ringers Lactate solution.

There was a field breathing tube placed into Ranger's mouth, so that he didn't swallow his tongue and Oscar was gently 'bagging' oxygen into Ranger's lungs. He was being very careful not to force too much air into lungs that may be pierced by broken ribs.

.

Ranger's skin was cool and very pale.

His breathing was rapid and shallow.

His blood pressure was critically low…80 over 60.

Bobby calculated he had lost 30% to 50% of blood volume.

.

.

If they could get him to the hospital in time…

If he lived…

There was no guarantee that there wouldn't be permanent damage.

The brain, the heart and the kidneys are not made to function with that sustained lack of oxygen.

.

.

The sirens of the approaching emergency vehicles and the counting of the measured 'bagging' were the only sounds on the scene.

.

.

All the praying was done in silence.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

**PART 2 – The New Beginning **

**.**

**.**

**.**

For five days he remained in a coma.

For five days she never left his side.

Tank would spell her so she could wash up in the bathroom and change into the fresh clothes he brought her.

She ate at his bedside.

She slept in the chair at his bedside.

She prayed at his bedside.

.

"_Please, God. He's a good man. I don't know his story, but I know he has been good to me and others. He always tries to do what's right. I know I don't go to church much. And I know I have no right to ask you for favors. But, please God; let us have a life together. I don't care if he is broken. I don't care what damage has been done. Please don't take him away. Let us have a chance at happiness."_

_._

_._

.* * * * * * * * * * * *

.

The panic subsided.

The endless nothingness did not.

He was aware of his own being, but felt nothing else.

.

Then he sensed it.

Her scent.

At first just a waft of citrus. Then the pronounced aroma of freshly mown grass and strawberries.

.

Had his injured mind conjured up the one happiness in his life?

Could she be somewhere in the darkness?

.

_No, she would not be in a place like this_.

_I belong here. She does not. _

_Yin and Yang. Lightness and Darkness. Stephanie and me._

_Stephanie and me…_

_._

_._

_._

The first time she popped into his life, it was supposed to be all business.

Connie had phoned and explained that a rookie skip-chaser needed some advice and a little help. He had a light schedule and agreed to a meeting.

.

He watched her standing at the diner door.

She was attractive, but not breathtakingly so. Standing 5'7", she was lean, but not toned. Her auburn hair was a mass of curls and showed no signs of pampering.

She had the aura of someone on a new adventure.

Not fear, more tentativeness.

Biting at her lower lip, she looked around for a friendly face in the crowd.

He did not give her one.

He just nodded in her direction and indicated the empty seat at his booth.

Wannabes. He had no time for them.

.

Her reaction to his 'warm welcome' was not expected.

She hitched her shoulders back, took a deep breath and strutted to his location as if on a mission.

Her jaw was set.

Her blue eyes were on fire. Cold blue eyes were not supposed to be so blazing and intense.

.

There was nothing shy about her. She didn't try to make small talk.

There was none of the babbling and eyelash batting he had become used to. He had long ago become weary and immune to the reaction of mate-seeking females.

If this woman had those other motivations, she didn't show them.

The one thing she DID have was an unwavering idea that she could do this job.

No experience. No real street smarts. Judging from her clothes and carriage, he doubted she had ever been in a 'cat' fight let alone a street battle.

.

And talk about blind confidence…Joe Morelli, FTA…for cripes-sakes!

Even he was not that motivated.

Finding a running cop would take all his time and prevent him from following up on other enterprises.

The bounty was big, but he went after bigger.

.

Not once did she play the 'poor helpless girl' role.

It was more the 'I-don't-know-what-I'm-doing-and-you-are-going-to-teach-me- because-I-want-to-do-this-so-start-teaching' role.

He liked it.

He would be Higgins to her Eliza Doolittle.

This would be fun.

.

.

His life changed in that moment.

He didn't know it then.

He didn't see it coming.

Stephanie Alice Plum would one day be his mentor, his love and his salvation.

.

Just getting her kitted up was fun. The handcuffs looked out of place with her. And the gun!

The first time he placed that 38 in her hands, she had an expression you would expect from someone handling a slime-eel.

The first time she fired it, she kept her eyes closed.

This was also the first time he found himself laughing in a long time. It was a genuine laugh from the center of his heart. _Where did that come from?_

.

.

The piéce de résistance was the shower incident.

A phone call in the middle of the night was nothing new to him.

And provocative calls in the middle of the night from horny women were also not new or for that matter well received. His days were hard and long and sleep was more a luxury than a necessity.

Sexual encounters were on his time schedule, not at their whims.

.

So the first plea for help from 'Eliza' was met with the standard hang-up.

Maybe he had misjudged her after all.

The second call was more detailed. It fell into character with what he now recognized was the new trouble-magnet in his life.

She was handcuffed, naked to her shower rod.

Left only with a phone for life support.

Burdened with pride that would not let her call anyone too close to her and modesty that would not allow her to bring in strangers.

So on what list did that leave him?

.

Major crises in her life were minor inconveniences in his.

Perhaps it fed his ego to help her. But the good feelings he got from such actions felt deeper than ego-feeding.

He genuinely enjoyed watching her get into predicaments normal people can't envision. They were, at first, never life threatening just odd.

Later years would produce much more foreboding threats.

.

.

He felt himself gasp as he walked into her bathroom. He hoped it didn't show.

.

_My God! She is so beautiful! Why didn't I see that before? Easy man, cold and professional. Rescue her and get the hell out before she sees you getting hard._

_._

In and out with a little small talk to hide the uncomfortable situation.

Mission accomplished.

Yet he found himself smiling ear to ear all the drive home.

He did not expect what followed that night.

.

.

She was in his dreams. Seductive and sensual dreams.

He was making slow and passionate love to her.

She was vibrant and alive under him…responding in kind to his every move.

His breathing was labored and intense.

_SHIT! _

He woke up just as he released.

_A WET EFFEN DREAM! WHAT THE FUCK?_

Somehow he transferred this anger to her. She was responsible for this embarrassment.

.

The anger didn't last long.

As he changed his sheets, he smiled and wondered just exactly…

.

_Who was this Babe that invaded his psyche?_

_Why of all women should SHE be the ONE?_


	8. Chapter 8

**CHAPTER 8**

**.**

**.**

The thought of her, just recalling her scent had made the void less foreboding.

.

_Oh, Babe, there's so much left unsaid between us._

_I should have told you how you filled my world with life. _

_I should have told you how precious your blind trust in me, no matter how ill-advised, was my only anchor._

_I should have told you when I first fell in love with you._

_I sent you away and back to Morelli because I couldn't handle it._

_It wasn't you. _

_It was never you. _

_It was always me._

_._

_._

He had fallen in love with her long before they ever had sex.

He was sure she was 'the one' after the shower incident.

Each encounter with her after that was agony for him.

Seeing her walk into Big Jims with Joe Morelli made him jealous.

He knew Morelli.

Morelli knew him as best as he could.

Joe never knew the reason for his opening his security company in Trenton.

Joe never knew the people backing the operation. Joe only knew what a good cop would know…

Ranger was trouble.

.

Sitting quietly on surveillance, he could block her out.

She was there in his world, but only in the physical.

He fought so hard not to let her in.

She was sitting next to him. He could hear her breathing.

If he closed his eyes, he could inhale her scent and imagine her closer to him…naked.

_Focus, damn it_.

.

He wondered if she felt the same tingle when they were in the same room.

When he touched the back of her neck, he had to control his breathing. His had felt warm and his dick, warmer.

.

.

_God love her, she hadn't a clue._

_I would have killed anyone who hurt her. _

_I would have killed Stiva. She messed that up by crashing her car into his. _

_I couldn't be angry with her. She needed her own revenge._

_I killed Abruzzi. He needed killing. The fact that he targeted her and hurt her made that decision easy._

_._

_Her taste. I remember her taste. _

_That first kiss in the parking lot._

_She was so upset over losing a car._

_A car!_

_I get as many as I need. _

_Never a price. Never a question._

_But I had to get her mind off of the shitty spiral her life had become._

_I couldn't tell her that I could take care of everything without opening a can of worms._

_She tasted like sweetness._

_She shook in my arms. _

_._

_The night we had sex was the end of me._

_Just take advantage of the moment._

_Use her as others have used you._

_Once it's out of your system…you can move on._

_But no, damn it! _

_It just got as complicated as rounding up cats._

_._

_._

_She shuddered at my every move. _

_Her breathing was deep and passionate._

_I entered her with force and purpose._

_I didn't expect her response._

_She welcomed me. _

_She suckled me. _

_I released with more passion than I have felt in years._

_I needed more._

_._

_._

_Her taste._

_She was salty and sweet._

_Just like her kiss._

_Her body released a musky scent that made my mind swirl._

_Her tits. Her belly. Her private part._

_They were all warm and honeyed._

_When she came it was pure nectar._

_Her juices were pure and honest._

_She was salty and musky and honeyed..._

_Her taste._

_._

_God, I could live on her taste alone! _

_._

_It just wasn't time. _

_I have plans, a schedule._

_I can't be in love now._

_It's too soon._

_._

The darkness seemed softer every time he thought of her.

She had brought such light into his personal bleakness.

For the first time he admitted to himself…

.

He needed her.

.

And now she was an impossibility away.


	9. Chapter 9

**+CHAPTER 9**

.

.

It was her touch.

That night. That touch…

.

.

He was between her legs, his hands caressing her open thighs.

She gasped as his lips first touched her.

He loved taking her on this ride…watching her face as he brought her so close and than backing off just enough to let her body accept the next level of pleasure.

She never begged for climax. She knew it would come.

She reveled in the journey and in the knowledge that her pleasure was his delight also.

Slowly, gently and precisely he walked her up the ladder.

His fingers touched her sensitive clit with the gentlest of strokes.

His tongue gave butterfly kisses to her waiting lips.

He watched her face as it morphed from expectation, to pleasure and finely to ecstasy.

He heard her breathing go from slow measured breaths to fervent panting and knew the powerful gasp of climax was not far off.

He felt her body stiffen, her toes curl and her back arch off the bed.

.

She made the most wonderful sound when she came.

It wasn't a moan, nor was it a scream.

It was a quiet, gleeful cry…the kind of sound made by a child when first seeing a puppy or a balloon or something else delightful to their eye.

She delighted in the places he brought her.

This time was no exception.

.

He reached his fingers deep inside her and removed them, coated in her juices.

They smiled at each other as he used the tip of his tongue to lick the tips.

She opened her mouth, waiting to share the taste; something they had done many times before.

But this time was different.

.

He couldn't explain, not even to himself, the need for his next action.

Instead of offering his prize to her to suckle, he brought his fingers to his chest.

He spread her juices across his chest and over his heart.

He marked himself with her essence.

He wasn't claiming her as much as showing her that she had total ownership of him.

.

.

A long soft "ohh" escaped her lips.

Her eyes dilated to deep dark windows into her heart.

She rose to her knees and kissed him.

It was a kiss from that heart.

If she could, she would have shared the very oxygen in his lungs and the blood in his veins.

.

He was kneeling in front of her.

She pushed him back on his heels and began to slowly and methodically kiss her way down his neck and across his shoulder.

At his chest, she bit and sucked his nipples.

She moved to his waist and then across to his abdomen.

Her tongue made those same butterfly kisses on his pelvis on their way to his shaft.

He had been stroking her hair, but now he needed to brace himself for the intensity to come.

Placing his hands behind and resting farther back on his heels he watched her as she journeyed south.

.

He was aware of his breathing. It was still measured, but had become deep and expecting.

Her tongue made tiny circles across his tip.

Her lips caressed and suckled the cap.

Her hands were soft and gentle in their play with his sac.

She had pleasured him often like this.

It was not a one-way street. Many times she would emerge from him, moist with her joy running down her thighs.

This time was different, more intense.

It was as if she was trying to communicate through his erection, her devotion.

.

This made his ejaculation all the more pleasurable and intense.

He could feel the electricity starting at the end of his spine and jolting through his penis.

But just at the moment of release…she did the most unexpected thing…

.

.

Instead of swallowing his offering and sucking him dry, she removed him from her mouth.

Holding his shaft in her hand, she showered herself in his seed.

In a line she went from her hair to her face and finally her breast over her heart.

Watching the ecstasy on her face forced every drop of semen from him.

A cry of absolute joy escaped his lips.

For a moment he thought he would actually lose consciousness.

.

They looked into each other's eyes in complete silence and complete devotion.

Nothing they could say could have expressed their allegiance more than what they had just shared… or so it seemed.

.

.

He stood and took her hand.

He placed his finger over her lips as she was about to speak, and shook his head.

He led her to the bathroom and into the shower.

.

.

He turned on the ceiling-head and a warm, gentle rain washed over both of them.

He reached for the gel and slowly began to shampoo her hair. Tenderly he ran his fingers through the strands and carefully rinsed them.

Then he lathered his hands and bathed her.

Her face, her neck, every inch of her was touched and cleansed by his hands.

.

This wasn't done in passion, but in compassion. As if he could wash away all the impurities from him that had clung to her.

Although far from perfect, he did not want to see her carrying the marks of his sins along with her own.

He washed her private area with a reverence not a passion, and continued until he had cleansed her feet.

He stood in front of her and gave the top of her head a long and loving kiss.

As he reached for the shower control, she stopped him.

.

He wanted to say something to stop her, but she would not allow it.

Placing her finger on his lips, she commanded silence.

Filling her hands with gel, she repeated step by step the ritual just performed on her.

.

He closed his eyes as alien feelings whirled through his mind.

As she touched him, anger and dread fell away.

With each caress they were replaced with love and faith.

She had crumbled the wall he had built around himself.

She had unlocked the door to his heart.

And now she was peeling away layers upon layers of guilt, self-incrimination and revulsion.

.

She was slowly revealing the core of his soul.

She did not see the cold, heartless killing machine the army had created.

She did not see the iron ruler of the misfits known as Rangemen.

She did not see the humiliated child cowering in a closet.

She saw only a good man with an honorable heart.

She saw the man of her future and her past.

She saw the man of her heart and her soul.

She did not see the tears.

.

.

There had not been tears since he was 12 years old.

He had promised himself never to cry again. He had kept that promise.

He would turn the pain inward; morphing it into purpose and resolve.

Never acknowledging the hurt or the loneliness.

.

Now the tears flowed freely, hidden by the gently flowing water.

He was no longer ashamed of them…

He had been freed by them.

.

Somehow, the one person in the world who had the answers to his life's questions had found him…had accepted him as he was…and had loved him unequivocally.

She had pulled him from his self-imposed darkness.

She had renewed his soul…

.

Was he dreaming all of this? Was it a memory?

It didn't matter. It was real here where he was now.

.

She had saved him from himself.

He was finally alive…

.

.* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

.

"Did you see that?" Steph whispered softly to the two other men in the room.

.

"His eyes are moving under the lids. He's in REM. He's dreaming." Bobby Brown looked at Steph and smiled. "He's trying to wake up."

.

"What should I do? How can I help him?" She felt herself shaking with excitement.

.

"Keep holding his hand and talk to him." Tank's voice was matter-of-fact but his eyes were smiling. "Let him know you are here and guide him out of the black hole he is in. He's searching for a way out…guide him to it."

.

She held his hand tighter and called his name. "Ranger, mi Novio, open your eyes. Ranger, I'm right here. Mi querido, I am here. Open you eyes, come back to me."

.

His face muscles reacted first to the pleading sound of her voice.

Then with great effort she watched as he fought with his lids to open his eyes.

They were tiny slits at first. His eyes wandering behind their lids…lost in his other world.

They were searching for the source of her voice.

.

He had her hand in his. He was holding tight. He couldn't let go.

She was pulling him from the void.

He needed to find her.

He needed to see her.

And there she was…

.

His eyes had finally found her and locked there, but they were questioning and empty.

Gradually he came back and those dark, wonderful eyes were full of realization and life.

.

.

"Babe?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Babe?" He called out with all the strength he had.

.

"I'm right here. I'd never leave you." Tears of utter thankfulness and joy kept her from seeing him clearly. She brought his hand up to her face to wipe them away.

.

He hadn't much strength, and his throat was on fire as he tried to speak; but just in case this wasn't real…just in case this was the final goodbye…he had to tell her.

.

.

"You saved me. You saved me." Tears were in his eyes as he touched her cheek and felt her tears.

.

"No, Carlos, Tank and the guys found you. I've been here at the hospital since.

.

He shook his head and repeated…"You, you…love…saved me."

As hard as he fought, the drugs and the effort pulled him back into sleep.

This was a warm and tender sleep. There were no nightmares or ugly memories.

There were just loving thoughts and peace…perhaps even hope.

.

If he was indeed about to die, he was ready.

But if there was a chance of life, he would beg and bargain for it.

He saw a future for both of them that was wonderful and bright.

.

He wanted Stephanie at his side to share everything.

No more secrets. No more hiding their love from the world.

He wanted to rejoice in their love…

.

He wanted to live.


	10. Chapter 10

**EPILOGUE**

**.**

He hated the cane.

Dr. Rozlynde told him there was no permanent damage to his leg. The muscles were extensively damaged. With time and measured therapy, there wouldn't be a hint of a limp.

It was just taking so much damn time.

And time had become a precious commodity to him.

.

.

_Half my life wasted…_

_No! _

_The first half took care of all mistakes and regrets._

_This next half is filled with promises._

_Promises to myself._

_Promises to Babe._

_._

_._

The first week out of the hospital had been the worst.

He was discharged early only with the understanding that Brown would follow through with meds and physiotherapy.

The hovering almost drove him crazy.

Reminding himself that Steph, Bobby, Tank and even Ella weren't just doing their jobs, but were showing him how much they cared, kept his temper in check.

.

.

Steph's welcome home greeting was a piece of heaven.

.

At his insistence they had stopped at the 5th floor operations center.

His pride would not allow the men to see him with a cane.

She knew that.

Without a word, she simply tucked herself under his right arm and held him around the waist as if space between them was an unacceptable option.

They walked onto the floor as a unit.

The men stood in acknowledgement. The term 'shit-eating-grins' crossed his mind and he gave a genuine smile in return.

He shook Lester's hand and asked him to thank the men for the good job they did…and for their blood.

At the hospital and while he was still in surgery, to a man, they and come to the ER and donated their own blood in his behalf. Even Ella and Louis Guzman gave a part of themselves.

.

He would now have to admit that his Merry Men were in his blood and part of him forever. All things considered…not a bad thing.

.

Loyalty to him had seemed like a one-way street. He never expected to see that loyalty returned out of genuine regard and not just fear.

It was one of many new emotions he would learn to accept.

.

.

Ella was just leaving the apartment when the elevator arrived on the 7th floor.

Knowing hospital cuisine wasn't his favorite, she had brought up a mixture favorite foods for brunch.

She greeted him with a wide open smile and "Welcome home." Something she had done often over the years.

His greeting to her was unexpected both for him and her.

He put his good arm around her and gave her a big hug and a kiss on the forehead. "Good to be home. Thanks for being here."

Speechless and a bit flustered, Ella giggled on her way to the elevator.

"Why don't you ride down with her?" was his way of letting Tank know that his assistance would no longer be needed.

"I'll check in later" was Tank's mumbled response.

"Much, much later." It was an order, but given with subtleness that seemed more like a simple statement.

.

.

The door had just latched as he kissed her.

Leaning against the wall for support, he drew her to him the way a bear draws the hive close before tasting the honey.

And honey could not have been as sweet as her kiss.

He moved his hands down her spine and held her ass cheeks as prizes for his search.

"You just got out of the hospital! You need your rest" was her gentle but fervent order.

"I have been on my back for almost two effen weeks. I've had all the damn rest I can take. I need you. I need you now."

"But how? Half of you is in bandages."

"Yea, but the half that wants you right now, isn't. In fact it might just be the healthiest part of me…Let's check it out."

.

An hour later, he was grateful that his cardio ability had not been severely impacted by the accident.

Physical positioning had been a brief challenge.

But where there's a will, there's a way.

And you better believe there was plenty of 'will'.

.

.

Admitting that he did need help with some things was hard at first, but surprisingly easier and less demeaning as the days progressed.

Except for the major blood loss, his injuries weren't as much serious as irritating.

The month-long monitoring of his heart and kidney functions was invasive to his sense of privacy but nothing he hadn't endured in some form before during other recuperations.

With his shoulder still wrapped and the cracked ribs taped just zipping his fly required major planning.

As far as going from standing to sitting and back again…that was a reminder that 'what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger'.

.

.

'_What doesn't kill you'...?_

_How close did you come, Old Man?_

_Pretty damn close._

_There's a big difference between facing death and the process of dying._

_That shit about 'your whole life passing in front of you', turns out not to be shit after all._

_You've been given a second chance at life many times._

_This time you've been given a second chance at living…BIG DIFFERENCE._

_Don't blow it._

.

.

.

He had a chance to start living that night after their shower.

Hair still damp, they spooned under the covers and fell asleep in close embrace without a word.

They slept until dawn and made soft love until the alarm clock brought reality into the room.

He wanted to open up during breakfast, but there were the phone calls from the 5th and Xavier, in scheduling, reminding him of his appointments. And the customary check-in with Tank regarding any events from overnight.

He had time.

When he got back that night; they would talk. He would tell her then how she changed his life.

He would let her into his world.

There was time.

.

.

_Hey, stop it._

_You can't change the past and you can't live there anymore._

_Look at this beautiful sky. _

_Smell this fresh air. Even Jersey has fresh air if you look for it._

_._

He laughed at his own sarcasm.

He had pulled the Porsche to the side of the road.

This was the first chance he had to return to the accident scene.

He needed to see where his judgment and rebirth had taken place.

This location would become sacred to him and he would return many times to regain his balance, to think and on one occasion to pray.

.

.

.

In his hospital room and later at home the pieces were put together regarding that night.

What seemed like eternity had been just a little over one hour.

From Life to Death to Life…one hour.

.

.

The doe was the mind-blower for all of them.

The State Trooper at the accident scene told Tank deer were so scarce in that area that he hadn't seen one in over a year.

Two sightings in one night were unique; and in the same location…unheard of.

His insistence that the doe had looked in on him from the windshield had produced smiles and eye rolling.

"Unless that was one of Santa's reindeer flying by, you must have hallucinated her. There was nothing on the other side of those rocks but a two hundred foot drop."

"They are as skittish as cats. The commotion caused by the crash should have sent her fleeing into the next county."

Tank insisted the doe was waiting for him. She didn't startle or bolt.

"Man, she looked me right in the eyes. Weird, just plain weird. We would never have found you in time. Bobby says twenty more minutes and we would have been bringing flowers to a funeral instead of the hospital."

.

.

Dr. Madeline Rozlynde had been his personal physician for a few years.

He liked her. He trusted her.

She worked well with Bobby Brown in keeping both him and his men in one piece…and in many occasions, off the official radar of ER's and police reports.

Roz explained that many of the physical reactions his body had to the accident and rescue had translated in his mind to the nightmarish visions he experienced.

The smell of blood and the hands pulling him into the abyss was his mind's way of explaining the actual rescue from the vehicle.

He wished he could take that as fact.

Something in his soul told him otherwise.

Deep inside, in a place he only now knew existed…he knew the truth.

.

.

He had been baptized in his own blood.

Stephanie had washed away years of self-induced isolation.

Life had been given back to him for a reason.

His purpose now was to find that reason.

His journey was no longer a lonely one. Stephanie, his Babe, was at his side. They were joined in body and soul.

They were the Yin to each other's Yang.

.

.

He breathed in the air and listened to the natural sounds around him.

And he searched for the doe.

He sensed she was nearby.

He couldn't see her as she stood in the brush by the roadside.

Could an animal actually smile?

Who are we to ask?

.

.

He returned to his car and back to his future…

.

.

He had been saved.


End file.
